Autumn

The trees cry leftover tears of last night’s thunderstorm. Dripping onto the neighborhood with a subtle magnificence that invites the traveling sparks to settle down. If only for one night. Souls hide in the clouds that hover above houses. They search for home, and in that they are more of this world than the grown babies who pull into symmetrical driveways. Right on schedule.

Something in the air is leading everyone to love making. Bitterness departs with the misty breeze and once again bodies slide into place. Young again after all these years. The birds catch a glimpse as they soar over sidewalks. They leave for their summer escape slightly warmed by the brilliance that grows beneath the covers.

I watch for and with the stars from the window. I see the splendor drape over the distance like the patterned sheets you’ve been collecting. I view the glistening embraces light up the night and I know they are remembering me.

You prepare the small, sunlit room until it beams majestic and shimmering. Lilies plucked from the star studded skies. The white petals mysteriously milky. Your skin glowing and gleaming, I realize how fast you’re growing. We dance across the wood floors to whatever melodies our lungs can remember. Liberated in the richness of this moment, we forget whatever else is coming.

Memories from other worlds and other lives come to us as we watch the rain clouds roll away. Wet grass seeps through layers of wool and cotton until it reaches our skin and the earth is comforted into sleep by that closeness. The bees grow tired so late in the season and we watch them struggle for escape, captured to the point of inaction by the perfection of their trembling wings. The trees begin to close into themselves and the long months of dreaming that lay ahead. They leave us watercolor notes that maintain their shape against the grey concrete after the rain has smothered the pigment with kisses. The streets dip down on each side to hold these love letters as they fall to us. The slopes fill with folds of deep pinks and toasted yellows. Each leaf finds a place in the tilted dimensions and in doing so silently takes the hand of the men that formed this dream catching road. Somewhere far away they sense it and are overwhelmed with the urge to capture a heart. As I walk by, the tree releases two of her precious creations. Ever so calm.

The fireworks seem to impose themselves onto the starry blackness of the night. But the glittering sparks welcome this long lost brother into the depths of their darkness. They spin together, high above me and the place where I sit. I feel the damp night ground through my polka dot socks but the rest of me is against the thick wool blanket. Yellow lines swirl together with the woven creams and stand illuminated in the shadows of the hour. Knees slightly raised and feet flat against the ground. Back propped up by the palm of my right hand while I take slow sips of sweet red wine from the glass in my left. It’s odd to be back here. I’d forgotten the magic that lives in these streets.

My mind spins with the stories that I see in each inch of space. Everywhere I look is inspiration for a line that I cannot wait to write. The urge to scrawl across my very skin overcomes me at all times.

Standing before the mirror, I tilt the black hat across my left eye. I pin the length against the back of my neck and leave a few curls to play freely on my cheeks. My lips are stained a bright red and suddenly my face is alive. I sink into a chair and bend to lace up the heels. I look striking and lovely, and I know it. You walk around the tree lined streets thinking you aren’t spectacular. In that you teach me the importance of slight self indulgence. I plan to enjoy the beauty that I find in myself.

A few stubborn raindrops that are determined to maintain the bond between drop and leaf shimmer like pearls in the morning sunlight. The rays scan colors across my face then move on to dance through a different being. I’m tempted to bring my biggest bag, hoping to have something to take with me by the end of the day. But I see that you don’t need everything for forever. Sometimes living it once is more of a miracle than you ever could have known.

In every other home in every other place children are turning over, grateful for the extra hour of sleep. Fallen stars weave into one and drape over the couples that lay wrapped together. Limbs overlapping to the point of indistinction. Babies quiet their tears for a short moment as those souls sing them familiar pieces from the past.

I walk the streets despite the hour. I live these hours despite their certain ending. I anticipate this ending despite its losses. I cherish the losses for the room it now creates. For something more, for something greater, for something else. Honest eyes stay open, unafraid of the terms and implications. I vow to the blue above me to appreciate the richness of today.

Baruch she-asah li et haness hazos.

Wasted Wonders

How does this music manage to claw at me? It enters into my veins and serenades each cell to tears. All of me is dripping with the salted substance of reluctance. Dreaded introspection. I’m tired of thinking of myself.

You are everywhere in this place. The walls call for you, the particles of air surround me with whispers of your name and memories of your touch. They cry for you in my stead. This ache is too dull and steady. As if it had always been and as if you had never really been. I see you in each old man, each wise one that now carries the burden of a forgetful mind. I bled when I opened the birthday card. It was the first one that you hadn’t written, though I almost believed in would contain a formerly declared promise. Part of me felt abandoned that you hadn’t thought to prepare.

The rain falls steady now. The pressure turns to a constant tapping on the inside of my skull. Eyes widen with all that they can see and I wonder to myself, was the world always this breathtaking? What a pity that I missed it.

How much longer before I find myself contained? The year begins and I beg for only one thing, only a million things, only a million and one. Can you therefore fault me for my inability to limit my speech. Does a sudden change in atmosphere render the end of all that we have known. Do you mean it when you say you mean to move away, resettle in a place that I do not find familiar. Am I to be just a visiting soul, a traveling spark that got lost on the road. Will I forever depend on others to set my own limits, these thick black lines that I don’t know how to draw. Within reason.

Addictions come and go, flowing through me like wind through a ghost of a wall. Air against air, it’s a wonder they don’t lose themselves in the other. And for me, will there ever be that meeting of breezes. Will the baby in my arms ever be the one that was formed to match my own face.
What are these lies I tell myself daily. What empty glances that fill each glass. Blood replacing the heavy weight of the reddest wine. Sometimes a story is just a story, and sometimes it’s something so much more.

I held her close to me. I held her tight. I told her the single bedtime story that was never born and will never die. That one that will be recreated in each season, in each generation, from the loneliness of those that are still searching. "Once there was a girl who thought she was in love with a Republican." And I didn’t know you were listening in the hallway. I hadn’t known you were waiting to tell me.

Sweet dreams. Baby girl. Tucked in corners of soft pink comforters. Gentle music, you’re parents did not leave you lacking in anything. Suddenly a hand on my back. Smooth and so soft. Closer than I expected, gentle and so sure or yourself. Perfect kiss and then you were gone. All alone with my tears. All alone with my joy.

All alone with my dreams in the early morning sun. I do not wash the windows. I fear it will ruin the shadows of my painting. That masterpiece I piece together with the remnants of beauty I find abandoned in the street.


He calls. He's falling. They don't know exactly what to do. Oh yes, there's hope. Do not shed your tears just yet, my dears. And yet, so lacking. There is no name to give. He is not of us, of ours, and so his name may not be added to any list. I pray for him still, unsure it does any good. Your head can change what happens in your toes, but if he is not attached to this body how can I reach his little limbs.

"Baruch atah" I bend because I cannot stand. Your name alone gives me the strength to straighten my head.

"Masai timloch b'tzion" I do not know what else to ask. I see my weaknesses as clearly as I see the morning sky. I see my failures as plainly as I see the form of my face, the curves of my figure. You see my tears and each one is asking to end this. My skin starts to show the worry of these five thousand years. Wrinkles so deep.


Change is in the air. I feel it so close as it pushes aside everything else and forces me to breath it in. I am sure it will be us that brings this altered reality to the world. If only we would decide that it is what we wanted. Our power is limitless.